For a minute all of them were tangled together In the bucking tent like fish in a canvas scoop, Then they were out of it somehow⁠—falling in line⁠— Bailey’s hair looked angry and sleepy. The officers Were yelling the usual things that officers yelled. It was a surprise. They were going to be licked again. It did not matter yet. It would matter soon. Bailey had lost his blouse and his pants weren’t buttoned. He meant to tell Bailey about it. There wasn’t time. His eyes felt bald as glass but that was because He kept looking for flying pine-splinters in the air. Now they were setting off firecrackers under a boiler And a man ran past with one hand dripping red paint, Holding the hand with his other hand and talking As if the hurt hand were a doll. An officer hit him With the flat of a sword. It spanked some dust from his coat And the man’s face changed from a badly-fitting mask Of terror, cut into ridges of sallow wax, To something pink and annoyed, but he kept on running. All this happened at once as they were moving. The dawn had been hit to pieces with a hard mallet.